


I’m Still Here

by fletchfeathers



Series: Don't Be Afraid (You're Already Dead) [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Orsus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22897831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fletchfeathers/pseuds/fletchfeathers
Summary: The sky is quickly growing dark, and as Daniel breaks out of his reverie, he realises he doesn't recognise this part of town. An appropriately icy bolt of fear goes straight to his stomach as he looks around, looking for something, anything, to get his bearings - but all he sees are small, strange symbols painted on the walls, and what looks to be some kind of half-destroyed structure in the distance.
Series: Don't Be Afraid (You're Already Dead) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/937887





	I’m Still Here

**Author's Note:**

> more backstory for my nasty boy! and a Real Name reveal ... :O (that fully no-one will really care about except the gays but shh)

Daniel’s so lost.

The Month of Secrets gave way to biting cold this year, and he knows it's why his mother got sick, that it clung to her lungs until she was too weak to fight it off; but he can't shake the guilt that claws at him along with the rumbling hunger in his belly.

_My fault._

He feels a touch of cold brush against his cheek and glances skyward, where clouds the  colour of charcoal have been steadily creeping across the winter sky. Flecks of white are starting to fall from them, and despite everything, it makes him smile. Snow is still new to him, after all, being from the south; and despite the cold that seems to already be embedded in his skin, the sight of it is still a little breathtaking. 

He bundles his travelling cloak a little closer around him - not that it does much to keep him warm - and keeps walking.

_My fault._

His mother told him stories about snow, about the creatures that dwell in places so cold they're nigh inhospitable - the white-furred Tabaxi of the north, and the great ancient temples in the mountains where the gods were known to settle sometimes, far from prying eyes.

He imagines them to be magnificent places.

She was going to take him to see them, one day.

_My fault._

He's not sure where his feet are taking him - he's never really sure any more. All he can focus on now is the ache in his gut and the way his body keeps trying to drag him down into the snow to rest.

He eyes the handful of copper pieces in his coin purse, wonders if he could afford bread - but the bakery is already closing up shop, and the taverns always kick him out if he can't afford a bed. He's too young, they tell him, to be in a place like that after sundown.

Daniel would disagree with that. Taverns are warm, and the people are loud but usually don't pay him much mind, and sometimes he can steal leftovers from the kitchens. It's better than being out here when the sun sets.

Speaking of, the sky is quickly growing dark, and as Daniel breaks out of his reverie, he realises he doesn't recognise this part of town. An appropriately icy bolt of fear goes straight to his stomach as he looks around, looking for something, anything, to get his bearings - but all he sees are small, strange symbols painted on the walls, and what looks to be some kind of half-destroyed structure in the distance.

The building might look like it's seen better days, but honestly, to Daniel, anything works as shelter right now. He makes a beeline for it, willing his tired legs to carry him just that little bit further, keeping his eyes fixed on the building. He can sleep when he arrives – he’s just got to get there.

It feels like hours before he finally arrives and, on finally seeing it up close, guesses that this must have been a tavern itself once. A painted sign of a huge black bird sitting in a nest of twigs and trinkets creaks loudly overhead as the wind pushes at it. There’s no name on the sign, Daniel notices – but before he can really dwell on that, a heady rush of sleepiness pours over him like warm bath water, and he doesn’t have it in him to fight it off any more.

He almost crumples into the doorway of the building, grateful for the darkness and refuge from the winter storm. There are holes in the roof over his head, but they’re mostly in the centre of the room that opens out before him.

It’s abandoned, alright. There are a few chairs and tables still kicking around, but they’re dusty and cobwebbed, the ones under the roof holes now covered in a fine layer of powdery snow. Talon hesitates for a moment, pointed ears twitching as he listens for any signs of life – but he hears nothing, and even with his Elven vision the room is dark, and besides, he’s just so tired.

If anything happens, at least he’ll see his mom again. That’s got to be worth something.

He retreats into a shadowy corner away from the snow, slumping against the gently creaking support beams, and considers whether it’s worth expending the energy to unhook his bedroll. He eventually decides it’s probably for the best, considering that he hasn’t stopped shivering in what feels like hours – and besides, it might help camouflage him in the darkness.

And so he lays it out, crawls inside, and bundles himself in the warmth of the thick blanket as that wave of sleepiness descends on him again, and he’s out like a light before his head even hits the ground.

-

He doesn’t know how long he’s slept. All he knows is that he’s awoken by the feeling of being watched.

He doesn’t dare open his eyes, but he listens, trying with all his might to keep his ears still as he focuses on the sounds in the room.

The wind whistles through the ceiling holes, but it doesn’t obscure the sound of footfall on the floorboards and the light rustle of what he hopes is clothes. The floor groans uncomfortably close to him and he stiffens despite himself, his hand immediately shifting to the small knife he keeps on his belt.

For a moment, the movement stops. Daniel determinedly keeps his eyes shut, trying by sheer force of will to keep his heart from pounding with fear, and hopes, if whatever is watching him intends to kill him, that they make it quick.

The silence drags on, seemingly infinite; Daniel's ears just about pick up the sound of low, soft breathing, just a fraction out of sync with his own – and then something touches him, and he can't, he can't help it, he leaps up like a startled cat and brandishes the knife at -

A boy. An older boy, maybe in his mid-teens, and human, with soft brown eyes and long, shaggy blonde hair. Daniel clutches the knife with both hands, trying to hold the older boy's gaze even as he feels himself shaking apart from the fear, but the other boy makes no move towards him. He simply steps back, holding up his hands in surrender, and glances back into the darkness.

"Boss," says the other boy, and Daniel's heart drops as he sees another, significantly larger figure moving in the darkness behind the boy – but he just says, "Gods, Boss, it's just a kid."

Boss – at least, who Daniel presumes is Boss – takes a step forward out of the darkness, and stops dead when he sees Daniel, his brows furrowing in confusion, and then – something else, something Daniel can't quite pinpoint. Not anger, at least not entirely. It's closer to sadness, if anything.

"Don't come any closer," Daniel says, turning the knife on Boss. He can hear how small his own voice is in the empty space, how tiny and frightened it sounds despite the words he's saying, and the boy lets out a bark of laughter.

"What are you gonna do, kid?" the boy taunts, grinning widely. "Gonna try and scratch me with your butter knife?"

"Jay," comes a low growl from Boss, "don't. Go back to the den and tell Tails we have a visitor. I'll take care of this."

Jay nods, casting one last glance back at Daniel, before he disappears back into the dark behind Boss. Daniel hears footfall on what sounds like stairs, although there aren't any he can see.

"Put the knife down, kid," Boss says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Look at me. You think you're gonna hurt me?"

Boss has a point. He towers over Daniel, all solid muscle and sharp eyes, and his arms – probably, Daniel would guess, about the thickness of his own torso - have tattoos of crows and ravens flying in a spiraling cloud all the way up to his shoulders, with a few loose black feathers inked in the gaps.

Daniel swallows, and slides the knife back into his belt, taking an instinctive step backwards as he does. Boss doesn't move, just keeps that golden gaze locked on Daniel, considering the young half-elf.

"Where are your parents?" Boss asks. To be honest, Boss is pretty sure he already knows. It's rare that any kids wind up here that have parents who love or care for them – especially not with bedrolls, wielding knives, and looking for all the world like a bird frozen before startled flight.

And there's something oddly familiar in this boy's face – something about his angular, not-entirely-elven features that nudges at Boss' memory, just a little out of reach.

"My mom's gone," Daniel says. "She – she got sick, and … and …"

His face crumples and Boss watches, expressionless, as he hiccups on a sob and tries to force it back down.

"Figured as much," he says. "Got a father?"

The switch is like whiplash, the way the boy's face hardens even as tears still glisten on his cheeks, his whole body stiffening, and the air around him seems to go still with barely-suppressed fury.

"I'm not going back to him," Daniel says, his voice ice-cold. "I'm never going back."

And Boss can tell – has seen this so many times before, and knows he'll see it again – that this is not the boy being a brat, the way kids sometimes are. No-one this young should know fear or fury on that scale, and he has to push down the anger that rises in him at whoever would do this to a child.

"You don't have to go back," Boss says, "but if you're not leaving, come in out of the cold, at least. I imagine neither of us want the City Watch to find your body up here."

Daniel looks hesitant, his hand instinctively going back to the handle of his knife, but Boss raises a hand to stop him.

"Not like that. There are a few of us," he explains, "and none of them will hurt you. They'll answer to me if they try."

Daniel cocks his head, but he doesn't draw his knife, and Boss spies the flicker of curiosity that darts across his face.

"You might have heard of the Crow's Nest. We're not a … _conventional_ practice, by any means. But you will be safe here, so long as you're willing to put in the work."

"What kind of work?" Daniel asks, and Boss grins.

"Nothing your parents would be proud of, that's for sure. You ever cut a purse, kid?"

The boy nods, to Boss' surprise.

"Well, then. We'll see if we can't find some work for you. We could always use another pair of small hands for picking locks. Besides," he adds, almost as an afterthought, "it's better than freezing to death out there."

That seems to cement Daniel’s decision, and he nods, taking a careful step forward.

"You can call me Boss," Boss tells him, "and we'll figure out a name for you soon enough."


End file.
